


Give and Take

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "You're going to learn a lesson once and for all today, Potter. A lesson about giving and taking. We will start with the taking, since I am aware that that is where your strengths lie. You are a taker, Potter. You have always been, and I will use it to tutor you in knowledge that you are so sorely lacking."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

The door to the dormitory opened forcefully, hinges groaning in protest as heavy oak swung back right into the solid stone wall. Harry jumped, his now-forgotten Quidditch book falling off his lap and onto the floor. Neville coughed and pressed himself against the headboard of his four poster. Dean dropped the piece of parchment on which he'd been sketching onto his bed and eyed their intruder warily. Ron and Seamus were nowhere to be found, the lucky sods.

"Out," Snape said coldly, his robes billowing out behind him as he strode into the room.

Nodding, Harry got to his feet awkwardly before following Neville and Dean to the door.

"Not you, Potter." 

Harry froze in the doorway, ignoring Neville's sympathetic look and Dean's questioning one. "Sir?" he asked slowly, waving his mates away with one hand and clenching the other at his side.

"Close the door."

"Er...what?"

Suddenly the door swung shut and Harry could hear the audible _click_ of a lock. Flinching, he wracked his mind, trying to figure out what this could be about. It had to be important, certainly, if Snape went out of his way to come all the way to Gryffindor and managed to get past the Fat Lady (although Harry wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she'd just let Snape through rather than deal with him). 

"'What?'...'What?' you ask, Potter? You dare to pretend you have no idea as to why I am here, wasting my time on...."

Snape's voice trailed off and Harry found himself turning around, staring at his professor expectantly. "On what?" Harry demanded.

The look Snape shot him in return was purely venomous.

"Sir," Harry added hastily, not meaning it one damned bit.

"On an insolent, foolish _boy_ such as yourself," Snape finished. The sneer on his lips seemed to deepen as he moved closer to Harry. 

Harry felt warmth rise to his cheeks and he stepped back while Snape advanced on him. He wasn't sure what in the hell was going on here and Snape wasn't exactly being quick about shedding any light on Harry's confusion. His potion in class had been horrid, as usual, but it wasn't as if Snape would come all the way to Gryffindor tower to dole out punishment for Harry's lack of marks that day. Occlumency certainly wasn't the reason either, as Snape hadn't given Harry one lesson since Harry'd fallen into his Pensieve last year. In fact, Harry had pretty much been avoiding Snape outside of classes all together - he'd not even seen Snape at Order headquarters over the summer between terms. That was mostly due to Dumbledore's restricting Harry to Privet Drive for the summer; had Harry had his way, he would have been there with the other Order members and Ron and Hermione, working and plotting and doing what needed to be done. Whatever was going on, he didn't like it. He didn't like it and he didn't appreciate Snape treating him like this when he hadn't even _done_ anything.

"You've wasted your own time," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I didn't ask you to come up here."

Harry got the distinct feeling that Snape wanted to hex him. His hands flexed open and shut and his eyes glittered ominously, but he didn't reach for his wand. Yet. 

"Turn around, Potter."

"What?"

"Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired. But that is hardly surprising, considering..."

Harry was finding it hard to keep his temper tethered. Snape was pushing him and he was right at that spot on the edge where one little push could send him falling, falling too fast to control his emotions or his wand. He stared back at Snape, clenching his jaw with barely-contained anger.

"Turn. Around." 

There was a flurry of blurred black movement and the sounds of a thin length of wood swishing through the air. This had all scarcely registered when Harry realised that he was no longer facing Snape, but rather was facing his bed. He was facing his bed and his arms were raised over his head, each wrist bound - one with silver-and-green and one with red-and-gold - by ties to a post. 

Oh shite.

Although he knew it was hopeless, he tugged at his restraints, cursing when he found that, yes, they were rather secure. Twisting as much as he could, Harry looked over his shoulder at Snape, who was looking him up and down with that condescending sneer, his wand at the ready by his side.

"Comfortable, Potter?"

"Of course I'm not!" Harry said slowly, willing himself not to show his anger. Swallowing hard, he faced forward again, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he tried to quell the hot flash of rage deep inside from getting out of control. If Snape knew he was getting to him, it would just make things worse, Harry suspected.

"I thought not," Snape said silkily, now so close that Harry could feel Snape's robes move against his back as the other man shifted behind him. "Would you like for me to make you more comfortable?"

Harry opened his mouth to snap that YES, he WOULD like for Snape to do that and DO IT NOW and let his hands out of those ridiculous ties and tell him what this exactly was all about, but then it hit him. _It_. _It_ was the tightening in his balls and that fast sinking sensation in his stomach and the way the tips of his fingers tingled with warmth and anticipation. Snape was right there, right behind him. His breath was heated against the nape of Harry's neck, making the tiny hairs there stand on edge. 

_Fuck_.

Closing his eyes, Harry prayed to God, Merlin, and a few extra dieties for good measure for _it_ to go away. This wasn't good. This wasn't the _time_. He hated Snape. He hated the way he always tore into Harry for no good reason. He hated the way he was always wrong and Snape was always right. He hated the way Snape always compared him to his father. He hated the way Snape constantly belittled him and acted as though Harry wanted the attention of a celebrity. He hated all of those things, but probably what he hated the most was the way Snape never saw Harry for Harry and how he himself had somehow gotten into a sick little routine that he'd not been able to break free from yet. This routine was an endless, vicious cycle and Harry didn't see how the circle could be broken. He would muck up in Potions class, Snape would berate him in front of the entire class, Harry would mutter and curse and grow so fucking hard from the humiliation and Snape's dulcet insults that he'd rub himself off on the underside of his desk or along one of its legs, he would miss a lecture point for all his concentrating on getting off and not getting caught that Snape would single him out again, and so on and so on.

"I will assume that your silence means bl- yes. I will assume that you mean yes."

Grunting, Harry hung his head forward, chin resting on his chest. Somehow he doubted that Snape would remove his restraints so easily. 

Snape's lips moved against Harry's ear as he uttered an incantation Harry didn't recognise. His cock twitched and Harry shuddered, leaning as far forward as the ties would allow in an attempt to get away from Snape. As he did so, the realisation struck that he was no longer wearing trousers. Judging from a draft of air and the way slightly-scratchy wool swung about his knees and thighs before settling, he was now wearing a skirt. A. Skirt.

"What-?" He gasped, jerking this way and that. Oh yes. Definitely a skirt. 

"Shut up, Potter," Snape said contemptuously. Harry felt a hand along the back of his thigh, just above his knee, and he automatically disobeyed Snape's order. He moaned. Loudly. _Bollocks._ This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. This wasn't good at all and Snape must have known it, for he did the same thing to the back of Harry's other leg, earning another moan.

"You're going to learn a lesson once and for all today, Potter. A lesson about giving and taking. We will start with the taking, since I am aware that that is where your strengths lie. You are a taker, Potter. You have always been, and I will use it to tutor you in knowledge that you are so sorely lacking."

Harry wanted to rant and rail at Snape, to call him names and tell him what a sick bastard he was, to ask him why the bloody fuck he put Harry in a _skirt_ of all things and demand to know what the meaning of all this was, but he didn't. Although part of him was angry and scared, a larger part of him was _so_ fucking turned on that it was nearly unbelievable. The way Snape was talking to him, talking him down while his lips moved against Harry's ear and his voice hummed just so against the sensitive cartilage, was wrecking havoc on Harry's senses. That, and the very real erection bumping against his backside. So instead of ranting or railing, Harry settled for making a low keening noise, one that escalated into a series of whimpers and gasps when Snape's hands slide up the backs of bare thighs and over the thin cotton of shorts. In the next moment Harry felt his shorts being pulled down and he spread his legs, lifting up one foot and then the other after the fabric pooled at his ankle.

"Ca-" Snape coughed behind him and then Harry felt a hand cup his arse over the skirt. "Still. Remain still, Potter."

Harry tried. He really did. But the fabric of the skirt was draped over his cock - his hard cock sofuckinghardalready - and it just-- it made things difficult. He hazarded a glance down at himself and damned if his cock - the greedy, needy thing - twitch. His skirt was sticking out in the front, an odd tenting there and it was all Snape's fault. It was Snape's fault he was hard, it was Snape's fault he was in a skirt, and it was Snape's fault that he was hard and wearing a skirt. He couldn't stay still. He bucked, his shins hitting the foot of his bed, and let out a ferocious yelp.

"Silence," Snape hissed, the hand on his arse grabbing a generous amount and squeezing hard. Snape's other hand reached around and covered Harry's mouth, muffling his noises.

Snape's fingers were long and lean and smelt vaguely of lemongrass, Harry noticed. Before he could help himself, he darted his tongue out to taste a bit of Snape's flesh. _God_. His skin wasn't soft and it wasn't hard. It was- it was stiff. Unyielding. Just like Snape. Stiff and unyielding with the faintest salty taste and Harry's head swam with a hundred thoughts he ought not be having, all focussing on whether or not the rest of Snape's skin felt like that. 

"A taker. Just like I said."

Harry nodded again, sighing as Snape shifted his hand just so, the heel of his palm over Harry's mouth now. Taking that as an invitation, Harry parted his lips and laved his tongue across the broad expanse of skin, savouring the subtle nuance in Snape's flavour as it rolled over taste bud after taste bud, sighing in appreciation.

The sigh quickly gave way to a whimper-squeal-gasp when Snape took his hand away, flipped the hem of Harry's skirt up, and grabbed his arse. Snape grabbed his arse, one hand per cheek, and lifted Harry up to the balls of his feet, then splayed his fingers out, hooking the thumbs in the crease of Harry's arse, separating the cheeks with two quick, firm, yanks. 

"Take," Snape said, thrusting against Harry's arse. The feel of fabric and what was undeniably Snape's erection against his arse was just too much. Harry groaned and pushed his bare arse back against Snape, lowering himself and then raising on the balls of his feet once more and then over again, rubbing up and down until he began to feel dizzy from the friction and the hardness and the straining in his cock. Just as Harry developed a rhythm, Snape pulled away. Harry pulled at his restraints and bucked back, _needing_ contact, _needing_ to feel Snape's prick hard against him through those robes. He needed. He needed because he was a taker. He needed to take and he needed to take what Snape had to give him now. He _needed_ so bad, so fucking-

Snape was a giver. Snape was a giver, something that Harry had always known, for Snape was so quick to give detentions and give punishment and give and give and give. Had there been any doubt in Harry's mind, though, that Snape was a giver, any doubt at all, it all vanished in that moment. It all vanished in that moment because there Snape was against him, cock to arse, skin to skin, and had Harry not been tied to the post he would have fallen to the floor that instant because his legs became nothing more than jelly.

"Be alert, Potter," Snape whispered hotly in Harry's ear, grabbing his arse again and pulling his cheeks apart. "Be alert and _take_."

Harry lifted his chin and then his entire body went taut as he felt something hard nudge against his hole.

" _Take_."

Teeth gritted and that hard, blunt thing pressed forward. Snape's cock was invading him. No preparation. None at all. Snape was just giving. 

Harry _screamed_. He screamed and thrashed and nearly bit through his lip. He did all of those things while Snape wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled back, then drove his cock home, earning another loud cry from Harry.

It hurt. It fucking hurt _so_ much that his eyes stung and tears slipped down his cheeks, but he would not ask Snape to pull out. He would not. He would not he would not he would not he would-

Slowly, so very slowly, Snape withdrew, gasping and grunting as Harry growled and whimpered and then he slammed home again, driving Harry forward. His cock bounced up and down, the wool uncomfortable and hot and heavy over him and he longed to touch himself. He longed to touch himself, to run his fingers along his length, to finger the slit and lightly trace the edge of his foreskin, the brush his thumb over that large vein on the underside, to knead and touch and finger and-

"Right. THERE," he cried suddenly as Snape angled his hips up and to the left. "There."

"I'll give you there," said Snape, tightening his grip around Harry's neck, his nose brushing against Harry's cheek as he thrust and withdrew and thrust and withdrew and just kept on giving, giving as long as Harry kept taking.

And take Harry did. The more Snape kept driving into him, the less it hurt and the more it felt right. It felt good. It was different, so much different than what he was used to experiencing, but it was his lesson to learn. It was his lesson to learn and sometimes even he could be a quick study.

Sometimes too quick.

His cock throbbed and he just couldn't take any longer - he'd taken so much, too much almost. Chest rising and falling rapidly, hitching with every other inhalation, he let himself go. He let himself go and then he was coming, coming, coming. He could feel his seed spill out, and he could see a wetness spread on the wool covering him, could feel the way the wool was sticking to his skin, to his cock.

Exhausted and feeling boneless, Harry slumped forward, mustering up the last of his energy to rock his hips back against Snape, knowing that he hadn't come himself yet.

"Enough." 

Harry's brow furrowed at that; he didn't understand. 

In the next moment, however, he did understand. Snape lay his hands on the small of Harry's back and pushed him forward as he withdrew from his arse.

"But you didn't-" Harry started.

"No. I give and you take, Potter. That was today's lesson."

"But-"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" said Harry, rolling his hips and whimpering as wool and come slid over the head of his half-soft cock.

"Tomorrow's lesson will build upon today's, Potter."

Harry perked up at that. Lessons? Tomorrow? God, suddenly he hadn't ever wanted to learn something so badly in his life. He twisted in his restraints, watching Snape as he crossed to the door. "Tomorrow, sir?"

"Tomorrow," Snape said curtly.

It wasn't until the door shut and Harry heard the _click_ of the lock that he realised he was still wearing a come-stained skirt and tied to his four-poster with no means of getting out of either on his own. 

When the door to his dormitory opened an hour later and Harry found himself subject to hoots, hollers, and countless questions, he thought that today's lesson should have covered humility, in addition to giving and taking.


End file.
